


Lost Starlight

by Littlecupofmocha



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Blind!Thranduil, Coping, F/M, Grief, Injury, Thranduil - Freeform, Thranduil's wife - Freeform, brief mentions of burning and Thranduil's facial injury, disabled!thranduil, not very graphic but i wanted to be sure, sensitive thranduil before he became closed off oof, single parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:46:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlecupofmocha/pseuds/Littlecupofmocha
Summary: Thranduil gains and loses so much in a short span of time that he struggles to cope at all.





	Lost Starlight

So much had happened to Thranduil in the span of a single month.

For one, his son had been born. It was an average birth, according to the nursemaids who assisted his wife. Though her obvious pain worried Thranduil immensely, it was apparently not as bad as it could have been. 

Legolas was tiny, but he had big, shimmering eyes and a small tuft of blonde hair on his little head. He was a treasure, and his parents spent all their free time with him, dreaming about his education and what activities he would grow to be interested in. Would he be a skilled warrior? Would he be more inclined to reading and law? Not that it mattered, so long as he was happy.

Then came the dragon.

There was minimal warning. The serpent had lived unprovoked for hundreds of years atop an isolated peak miles and miles away from Greenwood. But for some reason, on a whim, perhaps, it decided to stir up trouble. 

A scout had run into the throne room, pushing past other guards and collapsing in front of the king where he sat talking to Thranduil and his daughter-in-law.

“My lord, the Great Dragon approaches. He is spewing flames at random, there are already several regions of the forest destroyed.”

Oropher at once called his warriors to arms, and Thranduil sent his wife away with their child to a safer cottage a distance away from the palace, one that was well-hidden. The beast would have no knowledge of such a place.

‘§’

The battle commenced quicker than planned, the elves had not even settled into formation when the dragon emerged above the tall treetops, his nostrils flaring and eyes wild. He dove at them first, teasing them, frightening them just because. But he held off on his fire.

The elves lobbed volley after volley of arrows at him, some launched giant spears, and others were snatched up in huge claws and dropped from great heights, falling in front of or on top of their friends.

Once the beast became bored, he began breathing fire. He lit the trees ablaze and spewed his flames upon the elven army, some brave warriors falling swiftly in whirling movements of bright orange light.

Oropher, sick of watching his people perish, began shouting orders for a retreat to a place less accessible by the dragon while Thranduil gave commands for alternative means of attack they had prepared. When the king and prince had mounted their horses, the elves turned and fled from the clearing.

It was during this time that a massive wave of fire crashed upon the army. The great trees surrounding them fell, their branches bright orange and red, popping and sparking. Elves fell to the ground, struggling to take off their burning armor, their horses running wild into the woods, not knowing where to turn to avoid the flames. 

Then, Thranduil saw from the corner of his eye the dragon swooping down upon him and his father, having identified the royal line. Thranduil didn’t know what kind of vendetta this beast had against them; he’d never seen it in person before, having only known the creature through old stories. 

He hardly had the chance spur his horse and call out to his father before the two were consumed by flames. 

Thranduil lost control of his horse and it reared on its hind legs, causing Thranduil to tumble to the ground. He was confused and perhaps screaming—he couldn’t be sure exactly, all he knew was that he was in worse pain than ever before. Writhing on the ground and desperately trying to take his scorching armor off himself, Thranduil was barely aware of what was happening around him. 

He suddenly felt two sets of hands grab him by the shoulders and drag him somewhere. His armor was tugged off and someone was shouting at him and shaking his arm. He couldn’t see who, his vision was blurred and it hurt too much to open his eyes. He clutched at his face and felt something sticky, surely blood and raw tissue. 

Vaguely, he heard shouting and the sound of horses screaming, the thwip of arrows and the roar of the dragon, but it was fading, the sounds growing distant and muffled. Thranduil couldn’t bring himself to move; his upper body was screaming out in pain and he was unable to focus on anything else. 

The sounds quickly grew to a buzz, the pain consuming him, and he felt himself fall into darkness.

‘§’

He woke a week later. At least, that’s what the healers told him. 

He was lying shirtless in bed, a blanket covering his body and bandages on his left arm and chest. His armor had protected his torso from direct exposure to the dragon’s flames, but it became so hot that it had scorched his skin in many places where it was close-fitting. 

Thranduil could not feel the left side of his face whatsoever. When he touched his cheek, he could feel a thick layer of cloth, damp. When he pulled his fingers away, they gleamed in the lamp light, some kind of poultice or liquid had been applied to his wounds.

It wasn’t until a healer came to change his dressings that he realized he had been blinded. When she removed the bandages across his face, he had expected light to finally reach his left eye, to finally be able to look to his bedside without painstakingly twisting himself. Alas, the darkness remained, and his shock must have been evident, for the healer aiding him could not mask an expression of pity, nor did she prevent him from exploring his face, touching his ruined skin and hollowed out cheek with trembling fingers.

Days went by before he even dared to ask about his family, for he was afraid his worst fears were true. 

Galion confirmed the news for him, Oropher had perished during the battle, having been closest to the dragon when it attacked. When Thranduil quietly and desperately asked where his wife was, Galion could not bring himself to look him in the face, turning instead to face the balcony.

Galion cleared his throat before speaking. “We found only her circlet. She left it with your son.”

Galion could hear Thranduil crying, trying to be quiet despite having no reason not to express his grief around such a close friend as he was. 

His voice quivered when he finally spoke, Galion’s back to him still. “How did he survive and she did not? They were hidden.”

“The cottage was burned down. We found your son tucked into a crevice of a great rock in the northern part of the woods, a few miles north of the place. He was quite invisible, had he not been crying…We found no other leads. D-Do you wish to see him, my lord?”

Galion turned back around to see Thranduil’s head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with his uneven breaths. Thranduil shook his head quickly, his silver hair shimmering beautifully around his hunched form.

Galion bade him goodbye and quickly exited the chambers, shutting the large wooden doors behind him as quietly as he could.

Once Thranduil could no longer hear Galion’s receding footsteps, he finally allowed himself to cry properly, alone in the very bed he had once shared with his wife, weeping for all he had lost within a single day. 

‘§’

It took him a week before he dared look at himself in a mirror. When he finally got up the courage to see the damage done, he shakily made his way to the standing floor-length mirror in the corner. 

His stomach dropped immediately. The left half of his face was just….gone. His cheekbone was exposed, the skin that was left, that surrounding his mouth and eyebrow, was stretched looking, shiny and pink. He could tell it was hot to the touch when his fingers brushed up against it, but unless he was looking in a mirror, he wouldn't know anything was even touching his face, he couldn't feel. He had no idea how he was even able to move his mouth. 

Thranduil knew a wound this severe would never fully heal, even with all the wonders of Elven medicine, but at least glamour magic would be able to mask it. His eye was another story. There was no changing the fact that he would always be blind. 

‘§’

It was another two weeks before Thranduil asked for his son to be brought in. Legolas had been kept in a separate room, tended to by the same nursemaids who had always watched him when his parents had been too tied up with other responsibilities. 

After a few days of not seeing either of his parents, Legolas had become dejected and constantly restless, squirming whenever he was held for two long, and refusing to be separated from his blanket. 

Truthfully, the maids were beginning to worry about his development, being alone all the time with only strangers, and were relieved beyond belief when Thranduil finally asked to see him. As such, they excitedly made their way down the hall with Legolas, eager to witness the happy and long-awaited father-son reunion.

But when they reached the hall to the king’s chambers, guards stopped them from entering. Galion emerged from around the corner and explained to the maids the king wished to be alone, and, much to their disappointment, took Legolas from them and told them he himself would meet them in the nursery later to gather some items and ask them to answer any of the king’s inquiries about his son. 

The women left the hall just slightly bitter. 

Galion rapped twice on Thranduil’s doors before entering. Legolas was already squirming and Galion imagined a crying fit was well on its way if the child didn’t see his father as soon as possible.

Thranduil was sitting on his bed, and as soon as Galion entered, rose to greet his son. The prince was still weak, but he was tired of feeling like an invalid, or rather, tired of receiving looks of pity for something that could not be helped.

He walked slowly and a bit unsteadily to Galion, his heartbeat quickening to an alarming rate as he approached his child. His child. The boy he had neglected for over an entire month because of all the memories he knew would resurface upon so much as glancing at him.

Thranduil took in one deep breath and held out his arms so Galion could transfer Legolas into his. He cradled the boy’s neck with one hand as he supported the back with his other arm. Legolas quieted instantly as he stared up at his father. Thranduil couldn’t be sure if he recognized him or was captivated by the left side of face. 

“How has he been?”

“Anxious and irritable, the nursemaids have said.”

“Is he eating? Developing alright? What’s he been eating?”

“He’s still drinking milk.”

Thranduil seemed to stiffen at this comment, and he felt an unexpected twinge of anger arise in him. No one should be caring for his son as his wife once had. 

Galion frowned, expecting such a reaction. “Would you request something else, my lord?” 

“No, no it’s….it’s fine. They know what’s best. I hardly know anything…”

Thranduil trailed off and sat back down on his bed, staring at Legolas in silence. Galion took this as his cue to leave, telling Thranduil he’d be nearby if needed.

But Thranduil didn’t hear him. All he could do was look at the child in his arms, aching for his wife and already imagining the multitude of ways he could ruin his son, suddenly terrified of doing such an uncoordinated thing as dropping him on his head. 

At that instant, Legolas began to squirm, and when Thranduil attempted to readjust and hold him tighter, he began crying immediately.

“Shh, come now, don’t you recognize your ada?” Thranduil held Legolas out in front of him, hoping to Eru that his son would calm down. He didn’t want any guards thinking he was incapable of parenting. 

But this seemed to be the wrong move, as Legolas began crying even louder, so Thranduil opted to move instead to the rocking chair in the corner. A beautiful thing carved out of very old oak, it was ornately patterned with images of flowers and twisting vines and leaves inlaid with gold. It had belonged to his parents.

Within a few minutes of rocking and holding Legolas close to his chest, the infant had quieted down significantly, and was now grasping at strands of his father’s hair, being successful once in a while and yanking it so hard that Thranduil couldn’t help but yelp in pain and surprise at such a tiny elf’s ability to inflict such damage to his scalp. 

In time, Legolas had fallen asleep against Thranduil’s chest; even so, the king continued to rock back and forth slowly and steadily, himself unsure as to why. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to keep his child comfortable or if he was trying to soothe the growing panic in his chest.

His wife was gone. Dead. Not to be seen or felt or heard of in all Middle Earth ever again. His heart dropped to his stomach. He was alone with a 3-month-old child, with not even his father around for advice or assistance. He was to be crowned king in a matter of weeks, and he was nowhere near prepared to accept that title and all that came with it.

Thranduil had never felt more powerless. Even when fighting that damned dragon he at least had a plan and an ounce of faith in himself. Now he sat crying alone in his bedroom, shutting himself away from his own kingdom like a child while his servants and other members of the court did their best to manage a people in distress. Half their land was gone, the army had been near obliterated, the king killed, the prince nearly so…how was everyone but the leader himself managing to cope?

Was he a coward for wanting to run away from it all? To leave his ruined life behind and wander far away into the forest, beyond the reaches of any Elven lands? 

Thranduil stood from the rocking chair and walked slowly to his open balcony. The sun was setting and a thousand colors were displayed across the sky, a golden light reflecting off the rivers in the distance and the unruined pines. A light breeze played with the sheer curtains that framed the doorway. It blew Thranduil’s hair as well, tickling his neck. 

Legolas stirred in his father’s arms, and Thranduil shifted him over to his good side so he could hold him close to the unmarred side of his face. Legolas’s tiny head nestled into the crook of Thranduil’s neck, and the prince began to cry silently once more.

Though he had lost much, he had not lost his son. The only meaningful thing his wife had left behind, the one thing she would want him to treasure and love. Though he felt he would never truly heal from her loss, their child was a beautiful gift that bonded him to her spirit. If he was being honest with himself, he knew his wife would want him to move on and live as happy a life as possible.

Thranduil wiped his tears and went back inside. He laid down on his bed and, propping himself up against several pillows, adjusted Legolas so that he was lying on his stomach upon Thranduil’s chest. He cradled his son, his little leaf who was so, so small and fragile, and an intense love bloomed in his chest. He would protect this child with everything he had in him, give him the best life he could. Legolas was all he had left, and he couldn’t stand to lose him too.

**Author's Note:**

> Yayy my first Thranduil fic! I'm getting back into the LotR/Hobbit fandoms after being away for a while and UGH I forgot how much I love everyone. Thranduil's been through so much, and I will always love him, but ohhhh do I love writing angst. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and comment below if you'd like! You can find me on tumblr @221buckythesoldier OR visit my lotr blog @theaglesarehere
> 
> OR if you're feeling extra adventurous, I've bookmarked a ton of barduil fics recently lol (have fun sorting through all those)


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